


Violado (The Broken)

by assassins_in_pigtails



Category: Creepypasta - Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Gen, creepy stories, let's have fun reading about insane puppet murderers, not advised for late-night reading, puppets come to life, puppets go insane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-05
Updated: 2014-07-05
Packaged: 2018-02-07 15:08:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1903608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/assassins_in_pigtails/pseuds/assassins_in_pigtails
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>or, Let's Write a Story Where Puppets Come To Life and Kill People!</p>
<p>my first creepypasta! really fun to write. the gore shouldn't be much, but still is there... just a warning :D</p>
            </blockquote>





	Violado (The Broken)

She was beautiful, a river of gold hair down her smooth back, roses blended into silken cheeks, eyes the color of new grass. Her sweet smile showed hints of pearl-teeth slipping between creamy red lips. 

She was my masterpiece, this new puppet. Life sized and real enough you expected her to bob a curtsy and ask if you needed help. Fila Thyer, I had named her. She would be perfect for the new play.

She was dressed in a pure white dress that reflected our highest fashions. She carried a parasol and a fan.

I ran my fingers over the nearly invisible strings connecting her to her controls. She was perfect, beautiful. If she were real, I would love her, make her happy.

Make her mine. Unlike the first, just a few months ago.

They looks so similar.

Sad, isn’t it? The only girl the master of the strings could catch is one he couldn’t control.

Fate does like to laugh.  
~~~~  
The first thing I noticed was… thickness. No, that’s not the right word. My… eyes, yes, that’s the word, eyes, they perceived something intangible, yet I couldn’t cross… no, couldn’t see through it.

Darkness. Oh, that’s what this thick blankness is. Darkness.

I moved one… hand. It was strange, to think of a hand moving and twitching without any help. It should have been still. Puppets like me are only moved by our controls.

So… was I not a puppet anymore? If not… what was I?

The… door… opened, and Master walked in. He smiled at me. “Fila, my beauty, my love.” I thought it was nice that he loved me, but a little odd. Why did he love something that couldn’t move, couldn’t feel?

But as long as someone loved me, it was all right. My heart was new and pure in my chest.

“My sweet, _you_ will not break your master’s heart, will you?” He laid a hand on the lever and made me shake my head. Then I smiled at him. All by myself.

He gasped. “what… who are you?”

I used my voice for the first time. It was high and light like a child’s. “It’s me, Master. Fila Thyer. I’m alive.”

“Sorcery. Sorcery! How did this happen?” He seemed to be in shock.

“I do not know. I just… was.”

He blinks, then nods, and begins the day’s work. That is the good thing about master: he doesn’t question good fortune. Or witchcraft. If it helps him, then no questions are asked.  
~~~~  
Soon I discover that if I unattach the strings from the control, I can move on my own. I don’t need a stick to function, although the one time I accidentally cut a string, I was in horrible pain. Master tells me to stay away from things with sharp edges. “Don’t use the scissors or a blade, Fila. A puppet’s life is in its strings,” he says with a smile.

Once I learn to move by myself I can help around the theater, help use the puppets to put on shows. Sometimes when I clean the puppets they whisper to me, but Master tells me not to listen.

For the next few weeks, business picked up, usually handsome boys from the city seeking a peek at the new girl, the one with doll-like beauty. My glassy green eyes gave me an air of innocence that made flirting with them unusually easy. I use my charm to get them to pay double for the tickets, then dump them. Many are furious, so Master builds weapons into my fan and parasol to protect me.

But my loyalty was not to the boys. They never were allowed to call me by my real name. They never got anything real from me. It was my Master to whom I swear allegiance. It was to him I owed my life, my everything.

He told me I was modeled after a girl he loved. He courted her, spent years making her happy, only to have her run away with another man. His heart was broken.

So he made me to fill the gap. After he told me that, I felt a little less warmth for him. I thought he made me… for me. Because he wanted to. Not as a replacement for a girl he’ll never get.

Life was good for a few months. We had enough food for both of us, enough coal to warm the shop. He was kind and attentive. He promised, “My sweet Fila, you will be loved and wanted forever.”

He taught me, told me about history and revolutions, great balls and great wars. Tyrants and kings. I saw little difference. He told me about love, and I believed him.

But then he began to leave me with the extra work, to hurry home to finish… something. Meals grew less filling, and the shop was no longer heated when I slept. And he stopped addressing me, instead directing orders to himself, like, “the girl needs to mop the floor.”  
Not Fila, not my sweet. The girl.

The other puppets the ones that had no life, were able to whisper to me, o console me. They tried to convince me that he was a tyrant, the monarch of the theater, but I didn’t believe it. Master was kind and good!

But the puppets just sighed tiny sighs and said, “We know the ways of men. Of puppeteers. All are the same. All are fickle.”

And I found nothing to prove them wrong. Master’s treatment of me became worse and worse.

After a half-year of this, he and a neighbor cart in on the horse and buggy…

_No._

_No. He couldn’t have._

He built another puppet, which looks like me. _Why would he replace me?_

“See! See! They look exactly the same!” he exclaims to himself. “But the new one is better. She doesn’t need food or coal. She can’t leave.”

I stare at him. “Master, why are you replacing me?” 

“hmmm…” he walks off, muttering to himself. He isn’t old, or at least not old enough to begin speaking to himself. I glare at the new puppet. 

_What if she wakes up too? He’ll be furious._

I watch her as I finish some of the chores: washing down the windows, sweeping the puppet stage, putting the puppets from today’s show back into their places.

Then there is a loud banging on the door. I slide a tiny bird puppet back onto its hook and open the door. Three large men look down on me. One is the town sheriff. I peep past them, hoping to catch a glimpse of the horseless carriage there are rumors of. I don’t see one, so I turn back to the men.

“Yes?” I ask.

“Doll, fetch your master,” the sheriff orders, using a nickname my perfect, pretty face has earned me.

I blink. “Why? What has Master done?”

“He’s lost the theater, Doll. He hasn’t paid the bills for six months.”

I glance back at the new puppet. _She’s ruined everything._ “You need to give him more time. He’ll pay it back. I know he will.”

“He has no more time left Doll. I should have arrested him three months ago.” They push past me into the quiet gloom of the theater. I pull the door closed.

Then I throw the lock. _They can’t get Master. Never. Even if he replaces me, he is my Master._

They lean over to examine the puppet on the table. “This one looks like you, doesn’t it, Doll?”

“Yes,” I agree. “Master has been working on it for six months.”

They turn to look at me. “He’s been wasting his money on this,” he sweeps his hand, knocking into the new puppet, “instead of paying bills like an honest man.”

“Please be careful with that! It’s very expensive.”

The other two begin to push it off the table, grunting under the weight.

I scowl. “I wouldn’t do that.” My voice is a whisper.

“What did you say, Doll?”

I turn and glare at them. “I. Wouldn’t. Do. That.” I pull my parasol off the wall of props and slam it into one of the men’s heads. Electricity spurts through him.

He screams and falls. He is as black as charcoal.

Then I throw my fan at another. The blades concealed in it slice through him and sink into the far wall. 

I use my thin stature and incredible flexibility to reach it before the sheriff. He stares at me. “Doll? What… what are you doing?”

“I told you. If I were you, I wouldn’t do that. You cannot hurt Master. You cannot hurt her.” I point at the new puppet. “You tried to. You had to be stopped.”

He stares at me, and I realize what I’m saying makes no sense, but who cares, who cares, who cares. I rush toward him and shove him into the window. He falls through onto the hitching post outside.

It went straight through his heart.

I smile. _Master will be so pleased I saved his theater!_

Then I hear the door rattling again. I straighten my clothes and unlatch it. “Hello Master.”

He stares at the blood on my skirts. Then he looks past me at the enemies I’ve vanquished.

_He’ll be so proud!_

“What have you done! What have you done!” he rushes to one of the men and tries to revive him.

“Master, I was protecting you!” _Don’t you realize what they would have done to you? I saved you, and you’re mad at me!_

“You killed them! Murderer!” his face twists. “I must have made you wrong. You’re not right. I need to clean up the mess I made.” He looks at me unfeelingly. “To kill a puppet… cut its strings.” 

He reaches out for me. I stare at the puppet on the table.

_He loved me… before she came._ He almost has me. I dart around him and lift her up.

She’s not heavy to me. She’s light. _When she’s gone, he’ll love me again._

I throw her into the fire. Flames lick her, dancing and laughing across her body.

He screams like I’ve torn out his heart. “No! My masterpiece, my masterpiece.” He tries to pull her out of the fireplace.

_I have to stop him. He’ll hurt himself._

Wait, _what_ did he call her?

“I’m your masterpiece. What other puppeteer has a puppet so real she became a living girl?”

As the flames die down and the new puppet is gone, I release him. “You’re not a living girl. You’re a menace. You need to be stopped before you hurt someone else.”

“All I ever did was protect you. Why do you hate me?”

He glares at me as if I’m stupid. “What puppeteer wants a puppet he can’t control!” he yells, screaming so close to my face I have nowhere to go.

_He doesn’t love you. He’s just a cold, controlling monarch, like the others said._

_What happens to monarchs, Fila?_

__They get taken down._ _

Then, he’s shoving me onto a table, strapping me down. “Protect the town.” 

I hear the slick snap of scissors coming together. 

__No. no-no-no, not my strings. Master, Master, all I did was help!_ _

“Who wants a broken puppet? That’s what this is. Cut the losses.” 

Then, he severs the first string. 

I scream, scream, scream, but nothing makes it stop. _Ah, ah, stop it stop!_

_Don’t use the scissors or a blade, Fila. A puppet’s life is in its strings._

Then he cuts another and another, until I am _thrashing and screaming my voice raw, trying to make it stop, make it stop, the red-hot pain fills every sense, I was protecting you, why are you hurting me?_

He keeps snipping, _pain is everything, please, please, please, stop, no, no, pain, pain, pain, make it STOP!_

Then he does, when there is only one string left. The main string. 

I feel weak and useless, all my life drained out, barely holding on. 

Hanging by a thread, in every sense of the phrase. 

“Just do it. Save the town.” 

_My head… Can’t lift it… My face is blank… So much effort… to lift… my eyes to his._

“I wouldn’t… do that.” The I kick the back of his knees. 

He collapses against the scissors in his hand. They slice across his neck. His blood gushes over the floor. 

_There. I’ve saved him. Master can’t get hurt when he’s dead._

Slowly, I regain strength. I manage to unstrap myself. It takes weeks, but that’s all right. 

No one enters the theater. It’s supposedly haunted now. 

I never can fully regain everything. It’s hard to move, to speak. But I manage to survive. 

I rescue the rest of the puppets, take them to safety. 

Then I make it my mission to save the rest of us in the world. 

_The puppeteers must be taken down, all monarchs removed from their thrones. Only then will the puppets be free._  
~~~~  
The darkness in the forest is beautiful. It reminds me of the first time I opened my eyes, back when I was innocent and unused to the world. 

I’m waiting for him to come, responding to an offer he can’t refuse. 

I sent him a letter. it reads: Midnight. The forest. I've heard you're a great puppeteer. I have old puppets I want to get rid of, and need the money. Come with cash, or don’t come at all. 

Then I see him, stumbling through the forest, even though the sign clearly reads “Private Property! Do Not Trespass!” 

Tsk, tsk. 

_I wouldn’t do that._


End file.
